


a private view

by onegirlandherpen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After Hours, Art appreciation, Fluff, Greg sees another side of Mycroft, Lestrade is a gentleman, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft knows all the right people, Nervous Lestrade, Not Actually Unrequited, POV Lestrade, Romantic Fluff, The National Gallery, a meeting?, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onegirlandherpen/pseuds/onegirlandherpen
Summary: Mycroft Holmes wants to meet Inspector Lestrade at the National Gallery, after hours. Why?





	a private view

**Author's Note:**

> A nice piece of mutual fluff for Greg and Mycroft. With some art appreciation thrown in.
> 
> Short one off fic written quickly and given a light edit. Please do excuse any mistakes I've missed!

 

This was ridiculous. He was a grown man; why should he be nervous about it?  Greg ran a hand through his hair, again. Tried to straighten his tie a little more, but couldn’t do anything about his crumpled suit.

Why was he fussing over his appearance? He never did any other time they'd met. But that text - he'd been tying himself in knots over it. What did it mean? 

_Inspector, may I request your company at the National Gallery this evening, 8pm, Trafalgar Square entrance. MH_

Mycroft Holmes rarely texted; he usually phoned, or got the affable Anthea to. So, why? What was different this time? Was it just about work? It had to be - and he had to think that, because otherwise he’d just make a fool of himself.

Anyway. Greg pushed his hair back off his face; the cold winter wind was up. Checking his watch again - 7.59. The elder Holmes was never late. Pulling his coat tighter around him, Greg’s attention was caught by the black, sleek car making its way slowly along the pedestrian area towards where he was standing at the bottom of the staircase.

Shaking his head, Greg smiled. Only Mycroft Holmes would be so bold to do that; well, his driver at any rate. The car stopped and the back passenger door opened. Gracefully stepping from the car, Mycroft nodded to Greg. Closing the door without a word to his driver, who then drove leisurely away.

‘Good evening, Inspector.’

Greg nodded. ‘Mycroft.’

Adjusting his coat, Mycroft indicted the staircase, his arm outstretched. ‘Shall we go in?’

‘Sure.’ Greg shoved his hands into his coat pockets. ‘Do I get to know what this is about?’

‘All in good time, Inspector.’

No change there then.

***

Walking through the revolving door, Greg found himself in the silent, grand foyer, empty of the day's tourists; the only staff member present stood on the bottom step of the marble staircase. 

‘After hours access?’ Greg followed Mycroft across the floor.

‘Of course.’ Mycroft turned his attention to the smartly dressed woman waiting for them. ‘Good evening, Ms Fanshawe. My thanks for arranging this evening.’

‘Always our pleasure, Mr Holmes. If you would like to follow me.’ Turning, she started up the staircase, her shoes only a soft tap on each step.

Puzzled, Greg seemed to have no option but to follow them. Falling behind a step or two, he studied Mycroft - immaculately dressed and groomed, as always. How did he do it? Slipping his obviously expensive tailored coat from his shoulders as another member of staff quietly approached them.

‘Your coat, sir?’

Greg looked away from admiring the elegant cut of Mycroft’s suit, especially the back of his trousers. ‘Sorry?’

‘Would you like to leave your coat, sir?’

‘Oh, right, sure.’ A little flustered, Greg took his coat off, feeling self conscious as Mycroft looked back over his shoulder at him. ‘Cheers.’

The young man nodded as he turned and walked away with their coats. Following Mycroft and Ms Fanshawe, Greg found himself wandering past walls of paintings, ones he recognised - the rearing horse, the foggy train, he knew that was a Turner painting - and ones he didn’t know at all. It’d been quite a long while since Greg had been inside an art gallery. Well, apart from the odd one or two in the pursuit of an investigation.

‘Here we are, gentlemen.’

Ms Fanshawe was holding open the door, indicating into the room ahead of her. Reaching for the door, Greg held it open for her.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him, a touch of surprise in her eyes.

Maybe Greg was old fashioned that way, but he liked holding doors open for women; an example learned from his father. Stepping in behind them, letting the door close quietly, he took in the small-ish room. Tall white walls, a high ornate picture rail running around all four walls, a huge opaque skylight, and on the wall opposite the door, a lone painting.

‘"The Sky at Sunset", Mr Holmes. Unattributed but believed to be by a French artist. As you can see here,’ Approaching the painting, Ms Fanshawe indicated to the bottom left hand corner, ‘dated the 4th of May, 1821. Also inscribed with a time of 5.30. Possibly 5.30pm, as a time when it may have been painted.’

‘Fascinating.’ Mycroft stepped towards the painting.

Greg took a few steps into the room. Tilting his head, he studied the canvas - clouds, gently moving across the sky, from dark and foreboding at the top, through light, white and blue, his eyes drawn down towards the top of what he assumed were mountains. No other features. Limited colour, but bold.

‘What are you thinking, Inspector?’

Mycroft’s voice broke into his thoughts. Greg turned to him, and was taken aback. Something was different. Greg let his eyes wander over Mycroft, his face, his body; studying him, enjoying the chance to observe him openly. The stiffness had gone from Mycroft’s shoulders, his face had... softened. Mycroft Holmes was relaxed; now there was something Greg had never before witnessed.

‘I was thinking...’ As he looked away, feeling his face flush at how he'd been openly ogling Mycroft, Greg realised that the curator was not there. ‘Oh. Where did Ms Fanshawe go?’

Mycroft said nothing, turning his attention back to the painting. Ah. And then Greg knew this definitely wasn’t work related; there was nothing professional about it at all. The realisation made his heart stumble a little.

‘I was thinking,’ he started to say again, moving closer to the painting, and to Mycroft, ‘that you must have a lot of influence to get into the National Gallery after closing and have staff on hand just for you.’

A smile played at the corners of Mycroft’s mouth. ‘Influence? Maybe a little, but not that much.’

‘A little? I’d say more than a little. Important enough to get whatever you want with just a few words to the right people.’

‘Not everything I want.’

Mycroft’s eyes held Greg’s. He couldn’t look away; he didn’t want to. Another few steps and he stood in front of Mycroft, looking straight into those incredible blue eyes. They were alone; just the two of them, and a painting. The curator had slipped away, there were no other staff nearby; Greg also had no doubt that the CCTV had been switched off.

‘Mycroft?’ His voice just a whisper, his hand reaching out. Was he actually going to do this? After all the months of watching, hoping, was he actually going to do it?

‘Inspector?’

Seeing Mycroft’s eyes lower to stare at his lips, Greg touched a finger to Mycroft’s cheek. ‘May I kiss you?’

A hitch in his breathing, only a second of hesitation, then Mycroft placed a warm hand on Greg’s cheek. ‘Yes. Please.’

****

**Author's Note:**

> 'The Sky at Sunset' is a painting by an unknown French artist, currently on loan to the National Gallery in London. 
> 
> https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/french-the-sky-at-sunset


End file.
